Just a Moon Phase
by lunanoire
Summary: [slash, malexmale SxR long drabble slightly AU.] Remus tells the story of how he became a werewolf.


A/N: Just an idea that wouldn't leave my head. My favorite parts are the little bits of convo in the narration. The end is weird, but I'm too tired to fix it. As always, if you find any mistakes, let me know (I think I made quite a few technical ones. Whoops.)

**_Just a Moon Phase  
10/07/05_**

I found the puppy when I was barely seven years old. I was an only child, and desperatly in need of any kind of companionship that would keep me from talking to something inanimate. That would worry my parents.

I think they were happy when I finally found something other than my picture books to do with my time. Books were good and all to them, but for all the good they did, the long term effect was worse. All the books did was gave me a reason to seclude myself from others my age, to travel to distant places in my mind only.

I love him. He was the best thing that had come into my life at that point. Until then I had had no one to talk to, no one to have inside jokes with, no one to love unconditionally that wasn't my mum and dad. Of course, inside jokes with a dog wasn't the healthiest thing, but my parents considered it a phase, as they did all things that weren't as perfect about me as they would have liked.

My parents owned a horse farm, out in the middle of the country, where they could be secluded enough from the world, but my father could still be close enough to the university to teach his weekly astrology and symbology in medival literature courses.

In many ways, we lived like muggles. Our house wasn't attached to the Floo network, and we were miles away from the borders of the Wizarding world. My parents liked it that way. They didn't shun being of magical descent, they just liked their peace. This, as irony would have it, came in good use a few years later.

I never gave him a name. Even at seven years old, I had an inane since of justice, and from a book I had read, I got the idea that something so wild didn't deserve a name. You couldn't name wild things; names are only shackles to beings like him.

Even now, I can't name the feeling I get when I stand at the edge of a rocky crag on the side of a mountain and let the wind whip through my shaggy mane, as if I long for something more.

As I said, I found the puppy when I was about seven years old, at the end of the summer. I had been out roaming the woods, a large, cloth sack of picture books slung over my tiny framed shoulder. I would go down to the lake, sit in the shade, and flip through the books for hours on end.

"Alot like you now, eh?"

"Quiet, you."

Anywaym on this particular night, I had lost track of the time. The night was quickly descending, and I didn't have the impeccable sense of direction that I have now. I was frightened out of my bloody mind.

Then, from not far away in the darkness, I heard a soft whine. A whine that sounded about as pitiful and lonely as the one I wanted to emit. So I took a deep breath, and inched towards the noise. It was the bravest thing I had done up to that point.

"Uhh...hullo?'' I whispered into the darkness, chewing fitfully on my lower lip and wringing my tiny hands around the end of the cloth sack that I now held in front of me for protection.

There was a rustle, and I turned to run. Instead, I tripped over my shoelaces, which seemed perpetually un-tyed in my younger years, and I landed flat on my arse.

I scuttled back a frantically for a few feet on my heels and palms, through the leaves, until my back hit a tree and my underformed teeth crunched together. As I blinked hard to get the stars out of my vision, he came into view.

Grey from the top of his head, down his back, to the tip of his tail, he was tiny and underfed, with a nose blacker than soot. His underbelly was white, like fresh snow, and glittered in the moonlight as such. Ears too big for his body stood up straight, and flopped over at the very tips. There was a small piece from his right ear, which bled like it was fresh, and a tiny gash in his nose. He shook his head fitfully and tried to lick it.

I watched on fearfully at the wild creature. My parents had warned me about things that lived in the forest and came out at night. Not necessarily magical things, but regular animals. Frightsome things I hoped to never encounter alone, like squirrels and opossums.

I was scared, but my tender heart reached out towards the creature, which I began to creep towards on my hands and knees, the sack trailing through the leaves beind me. "Puppy..." I whispered, getting it's attention. It flipped its head towards me, and scrutinzed me in my frozen position.

Then, slowly, it made it's way towards me. The fear took over again, and I sat motionless, one hand just above the ground I was going to set it on, as the little dog sniffed all around me: my hair, my fingers, my knees, my crotch, my toes. I couldn't breathe; alert like that, he looked as fearsome as was possible for something so small.

Until he came up to my face, and in one deciding swoop, had covered my face in slobbery licks before I could prepare myself. He had me giggling and rolling around on the ground in seconds.

I decided right then and there that he was coming home with me. And, of course, he didn't mind. So, I scooped him up un my arms, and made for my house.

My excitement was soon dampened, however, as I made my way to the house through the horse barn. The puppy in my arms looked around interestedly at anything and everything, try to struggle out of my arms to investigate. I began to worry when the horses all awoke and shuffle around in their stalls as I walked by.

They didn't like the little dog at all. He was innocent as they came in my eyes, but the horses thought different. They all stared wide-eyed and alarmed as I walked by, biting my lip again, watching as they bucked their long heads back and forth, never making a sound.

It was if they were too afraid.

If I had been a little older, a little wiser, a little more attune to the nature of the animals I had grown up around - hell, if I had _cared_-- I might have noticed something was off. But, I didn't, and that was the beginning of my downfall.

That's not to say that I blame that dog for my predicament at the present time. Not at all. Nor do I blame myself, or anyone who had been involved, i.e. my parents. I did for a while, but after that I got over placing the blame. I just accept that it happened, and that it happened to me.

When I stumbled into the warm kitchen of our house with the dog in my arms, the look on the horses faces was nothing compared to the look my parents faces. Simotaneosly from their respective places at the kitchen table, they set down their tea cups and parts of the paper: Darjeeling and the Arts section for my mother, Earl Grey and the Business section for my father.

The first words that rolled of my tongue in quick pre-pubescent gibberish where: "Can I keep it, Mum?"

She took one look at the culprit in my arms and gave me the same look she had given me the year before when I asked her if I could go to school with the other kids in the provence. Guess how that went.

"Remus, darling...I don't think so." Her eyebrows etched together tightly, knowing her saying no was going to scar me emotionally, but saying yes was going to scar her furniture.

"But, Mum!"

"Remus..." my father cut in, quietly as he always did, and stood to walk over to me. "Where did you find this pup?" he asked, coming to a kneel, and scratched the scruff of the animal's neck.

"In the forest. He was alone. And he's hurt, and _bleeding_. See Mum? He needs our help. And look how skinny he is," I argued, nodding towards the little trickle of blood her his ear, and puffing out my chest importantly.

My father tugged at his goatess, like he did when he was thinking something over seriously, and he sighed a heavy sigh. "Remus, son...I don't think this is a just a dog."

I wrinkled my nose. "Of course it is, Dad. Are you looking at it?"

He shook his head, and then turned the dog's head to where I could see it properly, using two fingers to hold it there. "You see it's eyes?"

"Yea?" I set the puppy down on the floor, and he instantly took to an avid exploration of everything within reach. His tail wagged so hard his back feet slid back and forth on the tile as he walked.

"Ever see eyes like that on a dog?"

I hadn't, but I wasn't going to tell him that. "Yes."

He chuckled and stood up, giving my mother a look. Powerful things, those looks. "Don't be silly, of course you haven't. Real dogs don't have yellow eyes, son."

He was about to leave the room, heading for his office and where he was going to contact some higher power for advice, when I called out. "Well...then what is it?"

He turned and smiled softly at me, a smile which I inherited. "I'm not sure. But you can keep it until I find it for sure. You're mum will help you clean it up, and then you get in bed, you hear?"

I let out a whoop, far from my usual quiet demeanor, and shot off up the stairs, the little canine right on my heels as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Later that night, as I lay in bed thoroughly content to have a mouthful of dog fur, I my father's voice filtered in from his office directly below me.

"No- Horace, that's the thing. It's not-- no, I'm sure. It's not a dog...yeah, magical. That's what I thought. Nothing physical, no...he's upstairs with Remus now. Yeah. That's what I thought. He won't be any threat until he's older. The mum? Not a clue. I figure abandonment. Yeah. Well, thanks Horace. I'll call you if anything happens. Thanks, mate."

I didn't like where that conversation went, with the words "threat" and "magical." That kind of combination only meant my mum would have a reason to take him away, and I didn't want that.

I looked down at the soft ball of fluff that was curled up below my arm and--

"Ah, Moony, this is such a cute story."

"...you do remember how it ends, yes?"

"Oh, yeah, I do. Well...nevermind. Cute might not be the best description."

"Quite right."

Summer ended and faded slowly into fall. Over the two weeks I had the puppy, it almost doubled it's size, coming close to what I weighed. We now had full body tussles in the backyard, usually ending with me worse for wear.

And then the full moon came. My father had mentioned it in passing at the breakfast table that morning, but I didn't think anything of it because I was sneaking bacon under the table.

As night fell, the pup and I were sprawled out on the back porch of the house, him knocked out cold next to my leg, a large picture book propped up in my lap. I bit my lip as I read of Captain Hook and his long twisty handlebar moustaches.

To me, those handlebar moustaches were intriguiging. They commanded respect. All around Hook were compelled to listen when he spoke. But then again, it could have been that laughable plume that stuck straight up out of his hat.

Next to my leg, the puppy shifted a bit, then lifted his head, a little cocked. I set down the book, and watched him listen. After a moment, as though he'd lost interest, and laid his head back down on the wood.

I went back to my reading, until a noise off into the distance made both of our heads jerk up simotaneously. Leery-eyed, we peered out into the darkess as the wolf howled again. I began to chew my lip.

Standing up quickly, the puppy took a defensive stance in front of me and started to growl out at the darkness. I gasped, and held the book up in front of me, as protection from whatever I could see and he could.

A loud, low growl made a shiver go straight down to my tailbone. Blinking back tears, I peered over top of my book, and came face to face with an entire pack of wild dogs. Or what I assumed were wild dogs. My magical knowledge couldn't fill a picture book when I was seven.

Standing slowly, I stepped backwards to the back door, and tried to reach up for the door handle. But I was too short. I always cursed being a small boned child, but never so much as now. Turning wildly, I jumped to grasp the metal handle, but it barely eluded my grasp.

Out of desperation, I screeched out wildly: "Mum!"

I heard my pup growl again, and I turned quickly to place my back against the door. My mother was clambering down the stairs at breakneck speed, calling out my name. My heart was pounding so hard in my head I was surprised I could hear anything at all. But I did.

At the center of the pack, one dog stepped forward and gave a long whine. The alpha female.

My pup stopped growling. Taking a tentative step forward, he let out an identical whine, a little bit higher pitched. Then, in a single swoop, they came together in a quick clash of excited fur and my pup's mother started licking him all over.

This wasn't good. He was my friend, my confidant, the only fun I had had in all my seven years outside of books.

"No!" I screeched and lunged forward towards the two wild dogs. I couldn't let her take away the only friend I had ever had.

From behind me, my mother called out helplessly: "Remus, NO!"

"Where did she bite you, Moony?"

"Right he-"

"I don't want to see that! Button those back up!"

"Ugh, Padfoot. I'm just showing you my hip. See here?"

"Oh. Well...not very big, is it?"

"Ten years of healing, that's why. You think it should have been bigger, do you?"

"Of course. Better to show off to the ladies with."

"Sirius, no ladies are going to be seeing that low into my trousers anyway."

"Ah, yes. I'd forgotten what a stick in the mud you are. You'll never get shagged. Unlike me, of course."

"Enough about that, Casanova. Back to the story."

I never saw the puppy after that. It's mother took it away, and I was left to deal with the "love bite" I had gotten for the rest of my life. The symptoms didn't show up immediatly, howe-

"Moony?"

"...what, Sirius?"

"What's a Casanova?"

"Good grief. Please try and stick to the story or we'll be here all night."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n."

As I said, the symptoms didn't show up immediatly. It was years, in fact. Five of them, to be exact.

My father suspected, I think, that I hadn't walked away from that entire incident unscathed. He was right. Things that weren't exactly...normal started happening.

The first thing happened the spring I turned eleven, only five months before I started Hogwarts. It was a full moon. My mother had come up the stairs to my room after she had returned from taking some healing herbs next door. The children there all had various ailments, which they suffered through far into the night.

"Remus, your Aunt Mildy called. She want to know if- Remus?"

I had been sitting in the corner of my room, curled into a little ball, staring fearfully out my window at the pregnant moon. When my mother had finallly shaken myself out of the trance, I had no memory of how long I'd been there.

That night at the dinner table, my mother explained to my father what had happened. Apparently, she had forgotten about the incident with the wild dogs four years prior. I hadn't. I looked up at my father; he looked at me dolefully. He hadn't either.

"Remus, I don't want to alarm your mother," he told me later in my room, where the window was completely boarded up. "But I don't think what happened today was anything but coincidence."

I sighed and shook my head. "Neither do I."

"What do you know about werewolves, Remus?"

The shocked look apparently showed up on my face without me noticing it, because my father nodded without waiting for an answer. "Just what I thought. Horrible stories that children tell...s'what I thought."

"You think that..."

"Yes. I think you adopted a werewolf pup four years ago."

"But I thought werewolves were people who turned during the moon."

"And they are. But there is also another kind of werewolf. The original."

I bit my lip. "And if they bite a human?" I asked slowly, rubbing absently at the scar on my hip.

My father didn't answer. He just looked up at the boarded window, glowing slightly in the dark from the sticking charm, and sighed.

"Did you cry?"

"Of course no-"

"Aw...Moony. You cried like a baby, didn't you? You did!"

"...you would've too."

"Like a girl, I would've!"

I was absolutely sure of my fate two months later. It wasn't the first time I turned, but it was the day of the full moon, and I was just about to start mucking the stalls as part of my summer chores. I walked into the stables, decked out in overalls and rubber boots, and I heard one of the horses whinny shrilly.

I turned quickly. The bay mare to my right stepped backward and away from me, pressing herself against the back of the stall. Her eyes were wide with fear, and her nostrils flared.

Then, from my left, came another shrill sound of fear. A dapple gelding shook his head back and forth, squealing terribly.

I tried to step closer to see if there was something in the stall that was upsetting him, but that was the wrong move entirely. In a fit of absolute terror, he started throwing himself against the walls of his stall.

The other horses followed suit, shaking hay from the loft and knocking bridles off the hooks. Horrified and frightened beyond comprehension, I turned and fled.

Breathing heavily, I stumbled into the kitchen, where the family cat was cleaning itself on the kitchen table. I stopped short as he got one look at me and jumped up. His hackles rose defensively. Hissing viciously, he lept from the tabletop and fled the room.

My parents being at work, I was terrified. I ran up to my room, boots coming off as I stumbled up the stairs, and I threw myself under my bed. Under the covers I shook, biting my lips nervously and breathing like I had just one a marathon.

There was a sharp pain in my lips. Reaching my fingers up gingerly, I touched the spot and my finger came away red. Throwing back the covers, I traveled the length of the room in two strides to the mirror on my wall, to inspect my lip.

A small perfect hole trickled blood. With one finger, I pushed my upper lip up, and found my canines to be sharper than a three month old pups. I touched it with the tip of my pointer finger, and sliced the skin, making it bloom red.

I gasped, and stumbled backward away from the mirror, until I hit the bed and fell onto it. I was in a total state of disbelief. Was I really becoming a werewolf? Was my father really right?

"And this is where you cried?"

"Yes, Padfoot, for Merlin's sake. This is where I cried."

"Ha! I thought so."

"Remind me to get you a cookie later."

My parents came home that night, first my mother and then my father, to find me crammed under my bed with my copy of Macbeth and my blanket-

"Bloody hell, Remus, you had a baby blanket? And a _book_?"

"No, Sirius, I had a _blanket_. And it was Shakespeare."

"Where you sucking your thumb, too?"

"Sod off, Black."

_Anyway_, my mum came home first. She had always been quite the calm witch until she caught sight of me in a ball under my bed, in what was practically a trance. After making sure I was still breathing, she Disapparated to my father's office in a flurry of tears and brought him back quicker than you could blink.

When he arrived, he pulled me out from the bed and Disapparated with me off to Saint Mungo's. Within the the hour I was diagnosed lycanthropy.

It took three days for me to come out of my comatose state. My parents took off work in shifts so that one could be with me at all times. This is where the problems began.

Now, the marriage had never been rocky at all, not until my first visit to Saint Mungo's. After that, tensions ran high and nerves were constantly shot. My disease was tearing my parents apart. And I hated myself for it.

Eventually, however, they came back closer than ever. They still live in that old house, living as muggles, expecting an owl from me after every full moon as proof that I'm still alive. But, back to the story.

When I awoke, neither parent was next to me, and I was laid out in a bed next to a woman who had half-Polyjuiced herself into a Kneazle. Her long fluffy tail hung out from underneath the sheets on the side of the bed and twitched as she slept.

Near the door stood a plucky young witch, humming to a tune in her head. She was checking charts on the wall, and after deciding what she wanted to do, she walked towards my bed.

That is, until she caught sight of me looking up at her. With a squeak, she stopped short. Gaping, she blinked a couple times. "You're awake!"

I didn't respond.

Biting her lip, she exclaimed "Be right back!" and fled the room. Keep in mind that at this point, I didn't know that truth about being a werewolf. I guessed, but nobody had told me outright, and that was a different thing all together at eleven years old.

The next person that came in was a homely old Mediwitch, grinning from ear to ear. "Mr. Lupin!" she exclaimed. My mother and the young witch followed her. Mum ran over to hug me, after getting a nod from the Mediwitch, and started crying with happiness and muttering, "oh, Remus, oh," over and over again.

The young witch hovered by the door, eyeing me warily. "Cynthia, check young Mr. Lupin's vitals. Now that he's awake, we want to get him back home and to familiar surroundings."

Stepping gingerly forward, the young witch reached out to the cool white sheet covering my still body to lift it. Without thinking, I lifted my hand out from under it, so she could take my pulse. With a strangled yelp at my sudden movement, she jumped back a foot and clasped her hand to her face.

My mother was terrifed. The Mediwitch was horrified. I was just bloody confused. "I won't bite," I muttered to her, not realizing the double meaning behind my words.

Completley enraged, the old Mediwitch pulled the girl out of the room by the ear, admonishing her nearly under her breath, with a few words escaping like, "not dangerous," "foolish girl," and "young boy."

"That dumb little _chit_."

"Yes, well. You know how people are."

"But you wouldn't have hurt her, Moony. You were still really young."

"Yes, well...I'm still young and look how dangerous I am."

"...not with me around."

"Hmm, yes, I suppose. With Padfoot to chew on every full moon, why would I have to chase anything else?"

"Aboslut- HEY!"

The Mediwitched came in a few seconds later to take my vitals herself, and just when they were about to sit me up in the bed, my father came through the door.

I was shocked at his visage. A normally happy face was brought into gauntness, with dark circles under his eyes. Shocked, I turned to my mother to ask her what had happened since yesterday. I gaped as I found her facade to be a mirror image of his.

"What happened since yesterday?" I asked, unbelievingly.

"Yesterday?" My mum asked.

"He doesn't know," my father muttered.

I turned to him. "I don't know what?"

"You were unconcious for three days, son."

My jaw dropped. "Three days? Whyever was I unconsious for three days?"

They all went silent. The Mediwitch looked back and forth from my mum to my dad and then finally spoke. "You were...going through transformation."

"What?" I asked, my voice strangled. I knew exactly what she was talking about. I had looked it up. The first transformation a werewolf ever goes through isn't physically changing, it's genetic. The werewolf goes comatose for a day, or even a week, and starts the living hell that their life will become.

Hundreds of years ago, they used to kill children that went through comatose for no reason. They couldn't have a werewolf ravaging the village, no matter how beloved the child was.

And so, my hell began.

For the first year or so, I thought the practice of killing the children was merciful. Transformations were excruciating, animals - mostly mammals - were scared silly of me, and I had to get a special potion made each month that made me sick for a day. The potion didn't keep me from transforming, it just made it less painful. The other students at Hogwarts sensed something was off about me, and kept their distance.

I was convinced it would have been better if I had never woken up in Saint Mungo's.

"Remus, you wanted to kill yourself?"

"No, I never even considered it, actually. I thought I had missed my chance and now had to pay the price for it."

"You don't now, do you?"

"Don't be daft, of course I don't."

"Good."

My hell continued for three years. Even though I was quite miserable, I kept my grades up, and the only people that would even spare me a smile were my professors. Dumbledore even checked up on me every month to see how I was doing, and McGonagall would have the latest research on werewolves sent to me every time a new study came out. They were all really helpful.

But none of it helped to ease my pain.

Until one day, about the middle of October, my life was changed, and hopefully for forever.

"What happened, Moony?"

"Hmm...I don't know if I should tell you."

"Why not?"

"Well...you might get a big head about it."

"No I won- wait. It was me?"

"Mmhmm."

You were hyper, you were friendly, you were mischeivous. You were everything I had never been, everything I couldn't be for the past three years. You loved life.

I was in awe of you, because of the way you wooed girls, the way you charmed professors, and brought life into every room you entered.

"Do you remember the first time we first ran into each other?"

"Sure. Breakfast third year. Peter, the stupid clumsy little git, dropped a lit Dungbomb into my lap at supper unstead of Snape's. You carried me, I remember. You were so small I didn't know how you did it."

"Wrong."

"What?"

"It was on the train, first year."

"No way, I didn't know you until third year."

"Wrong again. Don't you remember? You were in the hall, hitting on this girl, and James called you from your car?"

"Oh, yeah. Longbottom's girlfriend, some Ravenclaw girl. She was a pretty little skirt. Mmm."

"After you stole that kiss-"

"You saw that! Were you the one who told Longbottom? You bugger!"

"For Merlin's sake, Sirius, I didn't have any friends back then to tell."

"Oh. True."

"Anyway, you ran down the hall and knocked down the kid struggled to open the sliding door to his compartment."

"That was you! Oh, Moony I'm sorry. I guess we quite literally ran into each other, ey?"

"Naturally. Don't worry, you're forgiven, you've done more than made up for it."

I met you for real the time Peter dropped that Dungbomb in your lap at supper, yes. But what you never knew was why I came back.

While Madame Pompfrey healed the burns on your chest, she made me hold you hand and keep talking to you. Before I did that, I had to take off my shirt because the dust was burning through the material from where I had touched you. As I sat there, asking you questions, like what your birthday was -- I was everso bad at making conversation back then -- you suddenly broke out with "Where did you get all those bloody scars?"

Shocked, I looked down at the relatively small -- compared to now, anyway -- patchwork of scars I had just acquired the spring before on my shoulder. "A fight," I supplied, hoping you didn't go any farther.

"You look like you got into a fight with a bloody werewolf, mate."

Going pale, I looked up at Madame Pompfrey. She rolled her eyes. "He's delirious, love. Go ahead and get him interested in that before I apply the stuff that really hurts. He won't remember when he wakes up." Gathering used gauze, she walked off in the direction of her office to get the "stuff."

I turned back to you. "I did fight a werewolf."

"A big one?"

"He was a bit bigger than I was, yes."

"Did you kick his arse?"

I glanced at my shoulder. "Contrary to the evidence, yes. He was a bit inexperienced."

"And you were, then?"

I hesitated. "Quite."

"You must be bloody strong."

"I carried you here, didn't I?"

You grinned. "I think. Why don't you show off your scars? They're bleedin' brilliant."

"Nobody can know I go off and fight werewolves, it's a secret. In addition to that, their ugly."

That was when you looked at me, as though confused, then shook your head resolutely. "No, they aren't."

"Aren't they?"

"I think they're quite dashing," You told me with a wink, smiling goofily.

Madame Pompfrey came back at that moment, which was good because I couldn't come up with a proper response. She shooed me out of the Infirmary, telling me to come back in the morning, to take you back.

I wasn't so sure about that, almost completely sure that you had only talked to me because you were delirious, but I came anyway. I thought, if you thought I was nutters, I could claim that I was on orders from Pompfrey.

When I entered the Infirmary, you were sitting up in bed, sheets pulled up to your hips, shirtless, with bandages wrapped around your chest.

I entered silently, but you sensed me anyway, and your head popped up. You grinned. "H'ullo there."

"Erm..hi."

"You the one from yesterday? Who carried me?"

I nodded, coming a bit closer.

"You're kind of small to be carrying someone my size," you teased.

I didn't want to recap last night, and Madame Pompfrey, ever the expediant one, entered the room at that time and began to unwrap his bandages. "Oh, good, Remus. You're here. Are you sure you can get this little brute up to his room alright? I could get someone else to help as he'll have to have a little help if he gets woozy. He's still on medication."

You grinned, and turned to me with a wink. "I'm sure_ Moony _and I can make it just fine."

"Ha. I remember that. The dawn of the infamous Moony."

"You bugger. You weren't supposed to remember that I was a werewolf. Pompfrey promised."

"Yes, well, when did I ever do what someone told me to do?"

"If I told you to, you would."

"Well...you don't count."

"Why not?"

"You're different."

"How?"

"Well...I respect your opinion. I think."

"And if I told you that you were nutters, would you agree?"

"Readily."

"And if I told you that you were the best thing that ever happened to me, you'd say...?"

"Naturally."

"And if I told you to kiss me?"

"I'd say wher- wait. What?"

"If I told you to kiss me."

"Moony...? But you never- You like gir-"

"Padfoot...that's a direct order."

"I guess if you told me to, it must be the right thing to do, eh?"

"Naturally."


End file.
